To Ask or Not to Ask

 There's this tricky thing about being on the spiritual journey and having been in a Christian experience for my lifetime: When you reach a point where you start asking questions about this God you've been serving and this Christ you've been believing in and this church you've been in leadership and attending, people look at you funny.

It's amazing the power of a question.

A question can be threatening.
A question can be stimulating.
A question can be honest.
A question can be faith-shaking.
A question can be disarming.
A question can be connecting.
A question can be inspiring.

One of the things that I'm recovering from is being treated like a question means insubordination; as if having a question, reviewing a theology or a principle means that you're trying to undermine someone's authority.

Sorry to be so frank, but that's a bunch of bullshit.

I remember going through a time when my faith was in a splattered mess. At that point, I had been involved in some form of church leadership as a worship leader for 15 years or so when my faith hit a wall. I sat at Newark Airport in New Jersey, waiting for our flight back to Southern California, holding my 9 month-old son rocking back and forth crying hysterically. This was just a year and a half post 9/11 so, the security guards were watching me very closely. I couldn't figure out WHAT was wrong but I was living proof that something was. Add post-partum everything to whatever was going on in my spirit and you have a recipe for a gaping hole in your heart mixed with a desperate feeling like you're losing your life and it's bleeding out this thing called "faith".

That was me.

I landed at John Wayne Airport and took the short 5 minute drive to our townhome. The place was perfectly in order and clean (I only had one child then...) and I walked into the kitchen. With my eyes I saw a clean sink but my imagination took over and I pictured baked on, gunked on, greasy pans in an overflowing sink. I asked myself, "What would I do with a bunch of pans like that? Knowing me, I would try to pick at them with a butter knife or my fingernail and get shards of painful whatever stuck up under my nail. But what if...I put a bunch of soap in hot water and just let them soak overnight? All I would need to do would be to take a soft sponge in the morning and wipe them clean."

That's when it hit me. I couldn't "work" on my faith anymore. I just needed to soak in the love of God.

Because I had two main questions after all those years of leadership and serving:

"Does God love me?" and "Am I saved?"

Those seem like such foundational questions and they were. That's why my spiritual house was falling...because I wasn't sure of the answers to what I was building my belief system on.

The God loving me question came, probably from all the performance based messages I had been exposed to -- not necessarily from the pulpit (although many were) but most were from people who called themselves "Christian". I really got the sense that grace was a term that was a concept and ideal but that the real system was still the legal system of reward and punishment. Do/say the right thing and you're "in". Do/say the wrong thing and you're out. I was left confused and wondering if God was really measuring me by that standard of acceptance.

The "am I saved" question had been a torment for years. I felt like my salvation was insecure and easily at risk of being lost, if I ever really had it in the first place. I obsessed over it during health crises, plane trips (when I was terrified to fly) and in the middle of the night. Had I committed the "unpardonable sin" of grieving the Holy Spirit? Was I going to be cast into some black hole abyss removed from God? I was so constantly restless and relied on rules and obedience to allay my fears. But eventually, my humanity would take over and I'd long for something on the "sinful" list and wonder if I had done it again...sabotaged my salvation. I was spiritually manic/depressive.

So, I committed to the Lenten season of some focused "soaking". (That last sentence is a red flag of religiosity but bear with me...it was where I was at then and there's a bigger point to the story...) I went on a modified fast with my food. I had a big wingchair in my bedroom in the corner. It was calling to me. I didn't want to try to read through the bible or come up with some formula to please God so that I could relieve the pressure valve from my sense of unworthiness. I just organically felt drawn to read "Ragamuffin Gospel" by Brennan Manning that had sat on my shelf, unread for years, as well as I meditated on and memorized Psalm 139. I soaked my feet in a foot spa to remind me of what was happening on the unseen atmosphere in my heart. The crusty stuff was going to come off.

I hesitate writing what I just did in the last paragraph because I don't want anyone to think that was the "formula" to get out of my funk. It was just what I did then. I might not do that now. I didn't force it or resist it.

The main thing is that I was in the process of giving up the illusion of what I was sure of and I was trading it for bigger questions and a bigger God.

I had no idea how wrong it would feel at first and I had no idea how much freedom was heading my way. Because all I felt initially was the pain of being in between two worlds; The world with confident fundamentalist answers that enabled me to belong to the country club of Christianity and the world that I did not yet know existed. It was a huge risk. I was risking everything by giving up the pretending.

Brennan Manning refers to this time in our lives as a "second conversion" A time when we turn to trusting God in a way different and deeper than we had.

I don't know what label to put on it but at the end of 40-something days, I was different. Quieter. Peaceful. Settled -- in a new way. I had profound answers to my questions.

Yes, God loved me. Sorry to use this overused term but...it was a 'revelation" to my heart and not something that anyone could convince me of. It was something that was just clear in a new way.

And as for my salvation -- this was the best part -- I stopped worrying about it. Something that had plagued me day and night since I was 14 years old was done and what my heart knew was this: It's in his hands and he loves me. If there's something I need to know at any point, he'll fill me in. It had nothing to do with me doing it right or by the book -- it had to do with this hitting my heart by his Spirit: No one, not even I, could care for my salvation more than God. If he cares the most and desires that none of us perish then, the matter was best left in his hands.

It was then that I stopped trying to save anyone else and myself. I just started experiencing a love within me that ended up coming out of me.

So, the bottom line is this: Ask your questions, despite what anyone else thinks. Because even when people can't handle our doubts or unbeliefs, God can and he actually invites us to do that:

Knock and he'll open.
Ask and he'll answer.
Seek and you'll find.

Like the desperate father in Mark 9 said to Jesus, "I believe. Help me overcome my unbelief."

Jesus didn't reject him for having questions but maybe, gave us this story that has transcended time so that we could see his heart -- a heart that invites us to bring our whole selves, questions and all, to the table.

"Come to me..." Matthew 11:28

So that we could have the longing of our hearts answered. It's not insubordinate to ask and God's authority isn't going to be shaken by your question. Look at his heart for us.

"He brought me to his banqueting table and his banner over me is 'love'." Song of Solomon 2:4

Peace to you on the journey,